


Hi.

by newtporn



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Joonho Park: Minho’s dad, Kira Park: Minho’s mom, Lisa Newton: Newt’s and Sonya’s mom, M/M, Minewtbang, OC names:, i haven't written for minewt in SO long it feels like an eternity, just how we all like it, there's also a lot of cheese, there's some super cliche stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 08:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8883676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtporn/pseuds/newtporn
Summary: In a world where people shape their lives around the Soulmark on their wrist, Newt lives with the hope to find his Soulmate, despite how much he hates his Mark. His sister Sonya, however, doesn’t seem to be taking her fate seriously. Will Newt succeed to push his sister back on the right path without falling for the wrong person himself? It is a common known fact that those who go against the Soulmate System wind up with a broken heart.





	

**Author's Note:**

> a special thanks to the amazing beta @Aethelia for being super patient and generally amazing <3  
> and shoutout to the awesome work artist @shuckface-minewt  
> we made a great goddam team, ladies

 

Working in a library was dull. Newt couldn’t really remember what he used to find exciting about it. He’d hung around the fantasy bookshelves at first, picking books at random and digging into them behind his counter. It was typical, he knew, – a librarian, whose entire life circled around books – but he couldn’t help it.

On days like this, however, when his mind was too heavy to enjoy reading, Newt would let his thoughts wander to one place he hated the most. His Mark – the neat curve of ink, dark and foreign against the pale skin of his wrist. He remembered the day of his 18th birthday, the excitement burning in his veins like a sweet poison, the anticipation, natural desire to know which were going to be the first words his Soulmate says to him. He’d pictured shaping his life around the words on his wrist, going where they suggest he be, guiding him through to his destiny.

He’d never guessed he would end up hating what was supposed to be his fate. He’d hidden it away, out of his sight, under the thick fabric of his white wristband. He wished he’d been allowed to use a black one, dark and mournful just like the way he felt about his Mark. But black wristbands were for people who lost their soulmate to death, not for those who never managed to find them. White was the neutral color, one people used in case they didn’t want anybody to know about the contents of their Mark for their own reasons.

This was an issue, since Newt’s wristband almost always winded up on the floor, bathing in fine layers of dirt and mud, abandoned while Newt stared at the letters on his wrist. He often wondered whether it was a punishment for something horrible he’d done as a child, though he didn’t recall himself ever being particularly nasty.

 _“Hi.”_ Two little letters with a simple meaning. The first time someone said them to him after his Mark appeared, he’d nearly jumped out of his skin. The moment of realization that just because this was going to be his soulmate’s first word to him, didn’t mean that others wouldn’t be saying it as well, was an enormous heartbreak. Newt hated it as it was, but having people notice the unusually short message on his arm and teasing him with carelessly spat out _‘hi’_ s was what made him get the white piece of fabric that would conceal his bad luck from the world.

His fingers knew the shape of it by heart; he could trace the lines of his Mark with closed eyes without any effort. He’d waited 18 years to know and had a mockery thrust upon him cruelly.

Newt sighed and opened the front door.

Nothing was more comforting than the smell of home. He waved a hand at his mother, disposing his shoes and wristband at the door.

“Hello, darling.” She poked her head out from the living room. “How was your day?”

“It was fine,” Newt answered with a shrug. It was one of _those_ days where the thoughts of his Mark wouldn’t leave him alone and where he didn’t really feel conversational. His mom always seemed to sense when to tactfully leave him alone, – which he was grateful for– so it took him by surprise when she stopped him from climbing up the stairs to his room.

“Come here,” she said quietly, pulling him into the living room. “Sit with me.”

“Mom?” Feeling slightly alarmed, Newt folded his legs and sat, facing her on the couch.

Her lips were tightly pressed together and there was a single wrinkle on her forehead as she scowled. Her fingers fiddled with each other as if she didn’t know what to do with them. Her black wristband had shifted, revealing the tips of the words on her wrist.

“What is it?” Newt asked, concerned. He put his hand on top of hers. She immediately cradled his hands, one finger absently moving to rub the soft skin of his wrist.

“We need to talk about your sister,” she said slowly.

Newt tensed, a shiver shooting down his spine like an electric current. “What happened? Is Sonya okay?”

“She’s fine.”

“Mom,” Newt warned, pulling his hands away.

“She’s okay, Isaac, don’t worry. She’s upstairs.”

At that, Newt automatically looked up. “Then what’s up?”

“She’s not… alone,” Lisa explained and watched her son’s eyebrows arch up in either confusion or surprise.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well… she came in with this boy-“

“She met _him_?” It punched all the air out of him. Somehow, Newt was on his feet, eyes wide, hands in the air. His mom’s face was expressionless.

 “No,” she said and continued quickly before Newt could interrupt. “They seemed to be just friends and I know it shouldn’t be that big of a deal but… he was a Rebel.”

They looked at each other in silence for a moment and Newt knew of his mother’s concerns immediately.

There was a crowd – a community of people that grew year by year as generations changed that called itself the Rebels. These people used red bands to cover their Marks, because as they put it, Marks didn’t matter. The idea of letting their life fit to the liking of some tattoo on their bodies, received without consent, was appalling for them. They claimed they controlled their own fate.

Rebels didn’t care about the Soulmate System, and if that guy messed with Newt’s sister it’d only end with heartbreak.

“She told me they’re working on a project together but I’m worried. Isaac, darling, you’re her elder brother and she’s always been closer to you than to me. Please, talk to her.”

Newt managed a smile for his mom’s sake. “I’m only older by 10 minutes, mom.”

Lisa waved a hand dismissively. “Details,” she announced.

“Alright,” Newt patted her knee softly and put on the most reassuring face he could master. “I’ll talk to her. I’m sure she’s sensible enough to know that she can’t mess with the System.”

“Thank you, baby.” Lisa’s shoulders relaxed noticeably. She made to move up from the couch, but Newt pushed her down.

“Get some rest,” he told her before heading for his room.

He knew his mom was really edgy about following the rules, but he was pretty sure she was just overreacting. She made sure to raise them both with a stern belief in the System, and Sonya would surely know better than to waste her time on a Rebel.

He heard murmured voices behind her door and contemplated for a second whether he should knock and talk to them together or wait till the guy was gone and give a separate speech to Sonya. He was still staring at the closed door when it swung open abruptly. He jumped and backed away.

“Hey,” Sonya greeted him, closing the door behind her. “Do we have any soda in the fridge?”

“I don’t know,” he said automatically. “Sonya, wait.”

She turned her head to him, foot suspended over the first step.

“Do you have… somebody over?” Newt asked tentatively.

“Yeah?”

Newt shifted from one foot to the other. “Who is he?”

Sonya narrowed her eyes. “Maybe it’s a she.”

“I heard his voice,” Newt said at once.

Sonya sighed. “Mom sent you here, didn’t she?” She held up a hand to silence his protest. “She tried to talk to me herself but I told her to fuck off.”

“Sonya-” Newt started but she waved him away.

“I’m as old as you, Newt. I know what I’m doing.”

“And what exactly is that?” Newt asked pointedly.

Sonya rolled her eyes. “Nobody wants to be inexperienced when they meet their soulmate, Newt. He’s cute and he seems nice enough.”

“Sonya, that’s the _point._ Your soulmate will be inexperienced too, there’s nothing to be ashamed of about that.”

“Oh god, Newt, you sound like mom. Trust me, alright?”

“Sonya,” Newt started again but she poked her tongue out at him and darted downstairs.

Exasperation taking over him, Newt raked a hand through his hair and pushed the door open. There, sprawled on his stomach, was a boy. Piles of papers were scattered around his legs. He groaned, raising one hand, presumably to have soda placed there.

Newt stared. He knew he should say something, or at least fake a cough to make his presence known, but he couldn’t. This guy was at least twice his size! Barging into the room on impulse was a bad idea. He didn’t think this through very well.

The boy waved his hand in the air impatiently, waiting for his soda. Receiving nothing in response, he clicked his tongue and turned over. Several things happened at once.

Newt was given a not-so-subtle once over, dark eyes lingering on separate parts of his body for a few moments. With one eyebrow arched, as if appraising his appearance, the stranger leaned back, smiling like this encounter wasn’t awkward or unpleasant, and then said:

“Hi.”

Newt’s body stiffened. Unwillingly, he clenched his hands into fists and moved to cover his Mark from the asshole’s eyes. “You think that’s funny?” he asked, angry. It was an old wound; it didn’t so much hurt as it made him rage. Rebels were signed and sealed assholes, so it didn’t surprise Newt that this one lived up to the title right away. The Rebels were lucky enough to have a meaningful, sensible Mark, but they chose to ignore it and prided their choice, _showed it off_ by wearing vivid crimson wristbands. Fucking idiots, unappreciative of the gift they had.

Though his Mark was a joke, Newt had never considered becoming a Rebel. He’d wait patiently until somebody would come along and have words from Newt’s lips on their wrist.

The stranger looked bewildered for a moment, clasping his own red wristband in his hand and readjusting it. Newt’s eyes flew to it, and he watched as the boy’s fingers fiddled.

For a fleeting, foolish moment Newt almost hoped that he might be…

“Shit man. Sorry,” the guy said but it didn’t sound excited or triumphant or happy. Or like it found its soulmate.

Newt’s heart fell. He shouldn’t have expected anything from a Rebel, but his desperation to finally find his Soulmate had overweighed his common sense.

“I didn’t mean to,” the stranger continued. “I didn’t realize it was your Mark, I just meant to greet you.”

“Forget it,” Newt sighed, crossing his arms on his chest partly to have his Mark covered, and partly to look somewhat intimidating. “What’re you doing here?”

The boy, as if mirroring Newt, crossed his legs. “I’m Sonya’s coworker,” he said, “obviously.”

 _“Minho, do you want sandwiches?”_ Sonya’s voice yelled from downstairs.

“Absolutely!” the boy yelled back, looking up at Newt. “I’d get up, but moving would be too much effort. You’re welcome to sit, though.” He gestured to the spot on the floor next to him.

“You can’t welcome me to sit in my own house,” Newt scowled, “ _Minho._ ”

Minho grinned. “Blue Eyes,” he acknowledged. “You’re probably Sonya’s brother? It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“I’m Newt.” The blond crossed his arms and tried to pull off his best Big Brother look. “Look,” he started, doing his best to smooth away the scowl on his face. “If you haven’t noticed, my sister doesn’t wear a wristband. Especially not a red one. So I would advise you to stay as far away from her as possible. Am I clear?”

“Woah.” In a faux-lazy movement, Minho leaned back on his elbows. “That’s not very nice.”

“I’m serious,” Newt warned, giving up with trying to keep his face neutral. “You mess with her and you’ll have to deal with me.”

To his absolute annoyance, Minho looked merely amused. “If you may know, _she’s_ the one trying to mess with me but I’m not having it. She’s not my type. But,-“ his eyes raked Newt from the top to the bottom again, “arguably, I _am_ into blonds.”  

“Don’t _flirt_ with me,” Newt said pointedly. “If she’s ‘not your type’ then why are you—?” he gestured around himself, questioning Minho’s very presence in the room.

Minho kicked at some of the papers scattered on the floor. “We’re working on a project, as you might have noticed.”

Before Newt could reply, the door swung open and Sonya stepped in with a tray.

“Food,” Minho sighed, beckoning her closer. He grabbed a can of soda and offered another to Newt, who ignored the gesture.

Sonya pinched Newt’s arm. “Don’t be rude!” She took the second can from Minho and settled beside him on the floor. “I take it you’ve met my annoying twin. Newt, are you done intruding?”

“Oh, he’s far from annoying,” Minho said with a smile that made Newt want to punch him in the face. “I think _distracting_ is the word for it.”

Sonya shot him a confused look and then looked at her brother, questioning. Newt shook his head and grabbed a sandwich from the tray. “I’m staying,” he announced because he needed to watch over these two and definitely _not_ because he was determined to irritate Minho ‘cause that asshole deserved it.

That, apparently, was the wrong thing to do. Sonya looked murderous whereas the Rebel just smiled into his drink. “My luck,” he said. “We’re reviewing Leo Tolstoy.”

As it turned out, Sonya and Minho were actually up to some serious stuff. A bunch of people have requested their magazine for a thorough analysis of “War and Peace” to find out whether it’s worth their time. The plan was to first find the best translation, then the best strategy to bear the book without getting overwhelmed.

“All these Russian names are hard to memorize,” Minho stated, sorting down characters into categories in his notebook. “We could make a family-tree type of thing and post it in the magazine as a bonus. It can even be poster-sized.”

“That’s awesome!” Sonya chimed in, writing the idea down. “I bet Rachel will approve!”

“So you two work together?” Newt asked. He snatched the pen from Minho and crossed out an extra letter the Asian had mistakenly written in Vasili Bolonsky’s name.

“I’ve just been hired,” Minho replied, eyeing the misspelling that Newt just corrected. “I’m pretty sure you just wronged it, dude. I’ve copied the name down from the book.”

“You can check,” Newt offered, confident in his knowledge of the book. “I’ve read War and Peace both in English and in original, but of course, if you want to be proven wrong…”

Minho squinted his eyes. “You know Russian?”

“Da.” Newt couldn’t help his smug smile though it did falter at Sonya’s irritated eye roll. She’d been sending him angry glares for the past half an hour.

“…was that a yes?”

“Yes, Minho, it was a yes,” Sonya retorted, slamming her book shut. “Newt, don’t you have stuff to do?”

“Uh… no?”

“Think again,” she insisted.

“He’s helping us,” Minho noticed, voice surprisingly free of mockery.

“No he’s just staying here to annoy me!”

“I’m fairly sure he’s staying here to annoy _me,_ if we go there,” Minho told her with a shrug.

“I am staying to make sure you don’t brainwash my sister,” Newt announced, serious.

 _“Newt—“_ Sonya began, but Minho held up his hand.

“I respect people’s decisions about their Soulmarks and I will ask you to respect mine, too.”

Newt had a dozen of arguments about _common sense_ and _heartbreak_ and _relationships that are not meant to be_ and _mindless flirting_ but he bit them all back for Sonya’s sake. Instead he just gave a stiff nod and like that, the subject changed.

 

* * *

 

It’s been about two weeks since Newt had realized he actually enjoyed weekly meet-ups to work on War and Peace. He’d learned to ignore Minho’s cheeky attempts at flirting and even grew to sass back sometimes. It was nice, Newt thought, to gradually start trusting Minho. Sonya stopped sulking on the fifth day and even went as far as insisting that Newt stay.

Everything was great as long as he just carefully ignored the red wristband, contrasting against Minho’s brownish skin. The brunet was a rather interesting person, as it turned out. He told fascinating and sometimes slightly ridiculous stories about the parties he regularly went to and about his overall action-filled life. It was fun, even though Newt knew that half of the most scandalous stuff was probably made up.

They were somewhere through the second week when Newt learned that trust is easily shattered.

He had tossed around in bed for hours, unable to catch the spell of sleep for some reason. This didn’t happen often, but sometimes sleep just wouldn’t come to him. Most nights sedatives worked quite efficiently, but other times, just like today, he had to lay in bed and count the obnoxiously loud ticks of his bedroom clock. It was barely over midnight when he heard the noise.

At first he thought his sleep deprived mind was just imagining things, but when he heard some distinct sounds of footsteps, – yes, that was definitely someone padding on the squeaky tile in front of his door – he bolted up and stepped towards the sounds as quietly as he could.

There was a sudden thud and a low curse of a girl. Newt opened his door immediately. Sonya stood in front of him, hand frozen mid-rubbing her elbow, which had probably been the cause of the noise. She looked terrified.

“What are you doing?” Newt demanded.

“Nothing, go to sleep.”

He took in the clothes she was wearing – a tight black silk dress that hugged the curves of her body, ripped tights he didn’t know she owned giving her look a wild edge. Her blond hair was a stark contrast to the dark make up and nails, and Newt gaped, rendered speechless for a moment.

The expression in her eyes changed with the panicky shift of her pupils and now she looked pleading, almost desperate. “Please don’t tell mom.”

“Where’ve you been?” Newt tried to pull her into his room for a proper interrogation but she pushed him away.

“Home,” she said. “I’m just leaving.”

“You’re _not_ going anywhere!”

“Says who,” she snapped, hands bracing on her hips. “You won’t fall as low as telling mom, will you?”

Newt eyed the complicated swirl of her eyeliner against her temples, scrunching up his nose unwillingly. “You have to at least tell me where you’re going.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.” She crossed her arms over her chest and that’s when Newt saw it. The blood-red of wristband, adorned with a chain of thin silver bracelets, stretched elegantly over her wrist.

 _“Sonya!”_ he exclaimed a little too loudly for the middle of the night and his eyes followed the crimson spot of color on her arm as she brought her fingers to her lips to shush him. “I can’t let you,” he said, trying to conceal his anger. He hoped he sounded more apologetic than he felt.

His sister visibly changed her entire demeanor, stance turning defensive and stiff. She was about to say something undoubtedly rude, when a tiny sound of clinking glass interrupted her.

“I gotta go,” she said quickly and before Newt could stop her, darted down the stairs. The sound of clinking glass repeated from her room and hesitating only for a second, Newt chose to check on it.

It was a tiny rock being chucked against her window. He opened it, inhaling the warm night air for a second and then looking down to see a beaming Minho waving at him from below. His fists itched to wipe the stupid smile away.

Sonya’s slim silhouette ran up to him, a little unsteady on heels, and he placed a hand on the bare skin of her shoulder to help her hold herself up.

Newt felt his blood boil. In frenzy, he shot downstairs and out of the front door just in his pajama pants.

“Blue Eyes!” Minho called as soon as he caught sight of Newt. “Nice outfit.”

Any other time Newt would have felt embarrassed beyond belief at the fact of standing shirtless and barefoot in front of not just an almost-stranger, but a _Rebel._ Right now though, he was way too outraged to care about Minho’s comment.

“You are _not_ taking my sister to a Rebel party!” he spat, jabbing a finger at the other boy’s chest.

“Oh my _god,_ Newt, leave me _alone,_ ” Sonya hissed from Minho’s side.

“Sonya, I will NOT allow you, I’ll wake mom if needed, I’ll –“

“I hate you!” the girl shrieked, moving, it seemed, to hit Newt but Minho stopped her with a hand.

“I’ll talk to your brother, Sonya, go wait in the van.”

Before Newt had the chance to protest, Sonya muttered an exaggerated thank you and stomped towards the car, swaying on her massive shoes.

“Minho, I swear to whoever’s above, I’ll call the fucking police if you dare—“

“Newt,” Minho said in a surprisingly tired voice. For some reason, Newt stopped talking. “You cannot control your sister’s decisions.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s doing!”

“Maybe,” Minho allowed. “But it is her mistake to make.”

“What happened to respecting people’s choices about their Marks? Our family’s always been traditional in regards of the System, you can’t lead her to believe that what she’s doing is acceptable!”

“I’ll take care of her, okay?” You don’t have to make this the end of the world. It’s just a party.”

_“She’s wearing a red wristband!”_

“Newt…” Minho sighed.

“I don’t trust you,” Newt countered stubbornly.                                                                   

“Then come along. You’ll look after her yourself.”

Newt snorted, crossing his arms defensively but Minho didn’t smile. He looked serious and his whole body language suggested that the conversation was making him sick.

Then, out of nowhere, his eyes softened with humor. “You’ll have to change into something more convenient though. People might get the wrong impression.”

Newt glanced at himself and then up to the eyes of the boy in front of him. “Can you promise me that this is safe?” he asked.

“Yes, Newt, I can promise you that.”

“…fine. You’re not making me wear a Rebel wristband though.”

Minho’s brown eyes twinkled in the moonlight. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Give me five minutes.” With that, the blond shot back into his room, not catching what was most probably a flirty remark that Minho cried after him. Internally thanking the gods that his mother was a heavy sleeper, Newt threw on a pair of jeans and the first sweater he found, and ran back, somehow tying his shoelaces in the process.

Getting to the party involved a really awkward 20 minute trip squeezed in between a few other people who were apparently Minho’s friends and who kept shooting Newt dirty looks for making them wait so much. When they arrived, everybody gave the Asian boy a quick thank you or a pat on the shoulder.

“I’m so excited!” Sonya sang, ushering Minho to lock his car faster. “I bet there are lots of cute boys, who, unlike _someone,_ ” she gave the boy a pointed look, “will appreciate my attention.”

“Sonya,” Minho and Newt said at the same time and Newt was so startled to hear the subtle note of scolding in the Asian’s voice, he gave the opportunity to speak to him.

“Sonya,” Minho said again softly, taking her hands in his. “We’ve talked about this. You look beautiful and every bastard who’s not blind will try to take advantage of your lack of experience, and trust me, baby, there are a lot of those out there. You don’t want your first kiss or your first anything to be like this. Being a Rebel doesn’t mean throwing yourself at everybody who’s interested. We form meaningful relationships just like you all do; the only difference is that it’s not with our Soulmates. Be sensible, okay? Don’t throw yourself away.”

Newt blinked once, trying to process the words. It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard the like of them before, but something in Minho’s voice made him want to believe it for the first time. Sonya nodded, giving Minho a soft smile. He smiled back, squeezed her hands and then let go.

“Let’s go have some fun,” he said with a sudden airiness that wasn’t there a moment ago.

Sonya adjusted her disgusting wristband and walked forward confidently, Newt and Minho falling into step behind her.

“That’s what Rebels do though,” Newt said, without meaning to. When he realized he had spoken out loud, he sighed and continued. “They go around dating random people without a care. That’s what you people _are_ about.”

Minho looked at him with deep brown eyes and Newt caught himself thinking that they’re the exact same color as the hot chocolate he gets every day in the coffee shop next to his library, before the Asian spoke. “Perhaps,” he said, sounding skeptical. “But most of us aren’t what you’ve been led to believe. I don’t date everybody I come across, Newt. I date people I think I can love.”

“But these people you date, these people you’ve dated, they’re not your Soulmates!”

“They aren’t. But yet, somehow they’ve still managed to wriggle their way into my heart.”

“They broke it, didn’t they? They broke your heart eventually, or you broke theirs!”

“Some of them did, yeah. But I’ve gotten many happy memories from them too.”

Newt shook his head. “I still don’t understand.”

At that, Minho smiled. “You will, Blue Eyes. You’re way too smart to live with the primitive mentality that’s been planted in your brain.” His finger tapped on Newt’s temple gently, to stress the point.

Newt scoffed and shook the touch away, but the noise was swallowed by loud music as they finally entered the house. It was hot and messy and exactly the type of party Newt, with all his life, had hoped to avoid.

He clung to Minho’s side, simultaneously trying to keep an eye on Sonya. He’d received about a dozen greetings from Minho’s friends by the time they came to a stop. His eyes resignedly left Sonya, who was chatting with some girls her age, and fixed on the group of people who faced him.

“Who’s your cute friend?” a girl asked, eyeing Newt’s white wristband with curiosity.

“S’Newt,” Minho said. “Newt, this is Brenda, Winston, Thomas, Fry, Zart and Benny Boy.” He nodded towards each person he named and everybody acknowledged their introduction with a wave, except the last boy.

“It’s Ben,” he told Newt, leaning forward to be heard over the blasting music. “Please don’t call me Benny Boy.”

“I won’t,” Newt assured him quickly.

Minho shot an amused look his way. “Come on, Blue Eyes. Let’s get you a drink.”

Ignoring Newt’s rather persistent protests, Minho dragged him to the kitchen where he mixed something with Sprite and shoved the cup into Newt’s hand. Newt was about to dispose of it, when Minho told him that he doesn’t have to drink if he doesn’t want to. The cup will just make him feel less out of place and will be something to fiddle with if Newt feels awkward.

Hesitantly, the blond allowed the cup to stay. Minho led him back to the living room and Newt felt a pang of gratitude towards the boy for not leaving him alone. He’d forced himself to bite back the questions he wanted to ask Thomas and Brenda about their relationship, like whether they were going to break up when one of them finds their actual Soulmate. He kept quiet most of the time, only talking when directly addressed, and sent glances towards Sonya and the boy she was engrossed in a conversation with.

Occasionally, Minho would make his way over to the girl and keep her company for a while, before coming back to Newt. That couldn’t be fun, Newt thought, but Minho didn’t seem to mind. He lost the flow of time and at some point, for the lack of a better thing to do, Newt raised his cup and took a careful sip. His nose wrinkled at the unusual taste and Minho, noticing this, sent him a bright grin.

“To Blue Eyes and his first party!” he yelled over the music and the group of his friends cheered, all raising their cups.

Newt caught himself smiling for the first time that night. When his cup was empty, he asked Minho for a refill, but the Asian refused, telling him that he shouldn’t drink too much on his first night.

“Wanna dance instead?” he asked with an easy shrug, but Newt refused with such horrified intensity that Minho didn’t press further.

It was 4 AM and Newt was chatting with Ben when Minho tapped gently on his shoulder and told him it was time to go. Newt didn’t protest and pretended that he didn’t hear Zart’s question of whether he’ll show up again. They collected Sonya, who was still chatting animatedly with the same guy from before, and headed towards their van.

The ride home was calmer because it was just the three of them this time and Newt closed his eyes, enjoying the cold rush of air on his face from the open window.

“Thank you for looking after Sonya,” he said when they were standing outside his house.

Minho pulled him into a short one-armed hug and left. Newt stood there, hand on the doorknob, and tried to clear his head but his thoughts tumbled over each other and made him even more confused than he already was. He shook his head, smiling to himself because despite everything, it felt nice to make new friends, and went inside.

Next morning Sonya emerged from her room not wearing her wristband. Their mother didn’t seem to notice anything unusual.

 

* * *

 

It was exactly a week later when Sonya knocked on his door, a red wristband around her arm, and asked if he was coming to a party with her and Minho. Now that he knew how responsible Minho was and how mature Sonya could be, there really was no reason for him to say yes.

Newt said yes. And if the tiny persistent voice in his head sang obnoxiously that Sonya’s safety was just an excuse for him to go, he ignored it.

It turned into a routine. Every Friday night they’d sneak out and head to wherever Minho took them. Newt still clung to his excuse of looking after Sonya, but in his mind, he’d admitted that he was having _fun._

His contacts list was now considerably bigger. He tried not to think about how half of his new acquaintances were Rebels. He’d learnt to see them over their red wristbands and realized that they can be nice and surprisingly mature.

He’d lost the count of times he’d secretly spent the night out. The War and Peace project had progressed to the middle of volume 3, if that’s any indication. Now that they got along, they worked faster and better, sometimes crashing at the Newtons’ and sometimes at Minho’s place. Minho’s family was really nice to them, inviting them to stay for dinner and welcoming them with great joy every time they showed up. Newt’s mom, on the other hand, barely acknowledged Minho’s presence – not that anyone cared.

What was the weirdest of all was that Newt found he didn’t for a minute doubt Minho. The Asian had proved to be worthy of his trust long ago and Newt admitted that he actually _liked_ the boy.

“Hey!” he said cheerfully after leaving Sonya chattering with the same guy she seemed to have befriended from the very first party. His name was Aris, apparently.

“Hi,” Winston replied. The others just waved as usual.

Newt flinched. His smile was wiped off so abruptly, it caused his face muscles to twitch. For some reason he became hyperaware of the veins pulsing in his right wrist.

_Hi._

Someone put a hand on his shoulder from behind. Newt turned to see Minho, who was shooting daggers at Winston with his eyes. “Did I do something wrong?” the latter whispered to the people around him and Newt felt a pang of sympathy for him. It wasn’t his fault.

And he couldn’t exactly tell them what was wrong, knowing these people’s attitude towards Soulmarks.

“Hey,” Minho’s voice said in his ear. Hands clutched his shoulders and tugged; Newt found himself being dragged away from his group of friends, still too shocked to give a reaction.

He’d almost forgot his Soulmark drama; he’d almost been _happy-_

“Newt,” Minho said softly, coming to a stop. “Are you okay?”

Newt looked at him and said, “Can I have a drink?” He watched with relief as Minho nodded without any protests and poured him the same drink he’d been making for weeks – Sprite and something Newt assumed to be alcoholic. He shook his head. “Something stronger.”

Minho gave him a shot of vodka. It burnt, but Newt liked the warmth it spread in his chest. He asked for another shot and then another and then more, but Minho only gave him 3.

“You’ll be sick,” he said seriously.

Newt scoffed. “I’m not a sissy! For once I’m actually having some fun and you’re no help!” He pushed Minho’s hands away from his shoulders and disappeared into the crowd. Minho called after him, but he didn’t care – he drank. Drowned unintelligible amount of alcohol for his organism.

 

* * *

 

Minho rubbed his back as he threw up in one of the bathrooms upstairs, the sound of the music muffled by the closed door.

“You’re free to say ‘I told you so’,” the blond said bitterly, sprawled on his knees in front of the toilet.

Minho brushed the sweaty blond strands of hair away from his forehead. “Next time just listen to me,” he sighed.

Newt started retching again. He gripped the edges of the toilet seat, closing his eyes and letting his stomach empty itself. God, he _hated_ his Mark, he _hated_ it. It was like years of frustration were pouring out of him.

“Newt,” Minho said, his voice sounding so sad, Newt unwillingly looked up. Minho’s finger brushed against the corners of his blue eyes, and with resentment, Newt realized it came away wet. “Your Mark doesn’t define you. Don’t let it control you like this.”

“It’s easy for you to say!” Newt snapped, suddenly angry at Minho and at himself and at the whole damn System. “You have a decent Mark, you just don’t show it to anybody!” He glanced at the red of Minho’s wristband and the pressure in his chest became unbearable. He sobbed.

“You need to calm down,” Minho said, voice all uncharacteristic gentleness that made Newt want to punch him more than ever.

Newt batted away the supporting hands the other boy offered. He stared into the chocolate-colored eyes, searching for answers, for _anything,_ because this was Minho and things were always better and brighter wherever Minho was. “Will you show me your Mark?” he asked at last, barely above a whisper.

Minho stayed quiet for a moment. “Blue Eyes,” he said, “if I show it to anybody, that would mean I give it a value. I don’t. It doesn’t matter.”

“Please?” Newt sounded tiny and pathetic but he didn’t care.

Minho shook his head. “Why do you want to see it?”

Newt shrugged and hugged the toilet again, mostly to escape eye contact. He resented the voice in his head giving him hope that maybe, just maybe Minho might be his Soulmate, but just too stubborn and too dedicated to the idea of Rebellion to acknowledge it. He resented that voice, because whatever he knew he was starting to feel for Minho was wrong, and he shouldn’t encourage it with something as foolish as hope.

 

* * *

 

Morning came with a crashing headache and even more crashing feeling of shame. He remembered in vivid detail the events of last night and he wanted to _die._

And he probably would have, at least figuratively, wallowing in his sweaty sheets and all-consuming self-pity, if it weren’t for the tentative knock on his door about an hour after he woke up.

“Sonya?” he groaned out. She looked worried yesterday and he’d sensed her checking on him a couple of times in the morning when he was half-asleep.

“Darling?” came a familiar voice.

Newt bolted upright, for some reason starting to panic. _She found out_ , he thought in horror, _she found out, I was too loud yesterday night, she found out! This was going to happen sooner or later, I knew it was, she found out!_

“Can I come in?” Lisa asked, and Newt let her in, after quickly checking the state of his eyes in the mirror.

“Hey, mom,” he said, crawling back under his blankets.

She perched on the edge of his bed and folded her hands on her lap. “How’re you doing, baby?”

“I’m fine,” Newt said through pounding headache.

“How’s your project going?”

“Project? You mean the one for Sonya’s and Minho’s magazine? It’s great, we’re almost finished!”

“Yeah,” she shifted a little so that she’d face him better. “I was actually hoping we could talk about him.”

“…Minho?”

Lisa pressed her lips together and nodded. “Your sister kicked me out of her room as soon as I mentioned his name.”

“Mom, don’t take it seriously. Sonya just doesn’t like it when we intervene in her personal life, you know that.”

“I do, but Isaac, baby, I’m so worried. That boy will eventually take advantage of her; he can’t be trusted.”

“It’s not like that.” Involuntarily, Newt remembered the night before, the way Minho had stayed with him and comforted him. He suppressed a shiver. “He’s a nice guy.”

“He’s a _Rebel!_ ”

“That has nothing to do with his personality. Trust me, mom, he’ll protect Sonya to death if it comes to it.”

“You’re smarter than that,” his mom said sadly. “He can’t have brainwashed you, too.”

“He didn’t _brainwash_ me—“

“But of course he did!”

_“Mom!”_

“Isaac, open your eyes! It won’t be long until he drags you two into his company and makes you believe wearing a red wristband is an acceptable thing to do!”

Newt flushed under his mother’s gaze, momentarily imagining her reaction to Sonya’s red wristband, hidden in her pack of tampons, and to their weekly adventures at Rebel parties.

“He’ll use you. I see why he might seem interesting to you, but you shouldn’t play with fire, Isaac. Never get too close to it. Burns are the most painful wounds. Tell your sister that too.”

The words clawed right at Newt’s heart, but he willed his expression to remain stoic. “You’re being dramatic, mom.”

She smiled, patting his cheek softly. “I hope we understood each other.”

And with that, she grabbed the couple of dirty plates stacked on his desk and walked out.

Newt sagged in his bed, still feeling sore and grumpy and frankly, confused. He almost drifted off to sleep when the unsteady tile in front of his door squeaked again. The door opened to reveal Sonya in her flowery nightgown.

“Hey,” she said cheerfully, letting herself in and closing the door. “What’d she say?”

“Just… stuff,” Newt gestured around himself in the air, making space in the bed for his sister.

She climbed in and tucked the blankets under her chin. “She ranted about Minho, didn’t she?”

“She did. Sonya, look, you’ve got to be kinder to her. I don’t mean listen to what she’s saying. Just… be gentler, yeah?”

The girl nodded dismissively, but the easy air around her was gone. “What happened yesterday?” she asked, brows furrowing in concern.

“I drank a little too much.”

“Why?” At Newt’s shrug, she raised an accusing eyebrow, but then her eyes softened. “You can talk to me. About… things, I mean. I won’t judge you, big bro.”

Newt ducked his head under the blankets and let himself breathe out a heavy sigh.

“Newt, come on,” she yanked the sheets away, poking his stomach with a fingernail. “Why’d you drink like that? I know something must’ve happened.”

“I don’t know, Sonya, okay? I guess I just angsted over my Mark again.”

She rolled her eyes. “Somebody told you the word, didn’t they?”

“You make it sound so easy, like it’s nothing! I… I want it to mean _something_ , okay? I believe so much in The System, and I hate that _I_ get to be the one with no luck, when dozens of people don’t even care about _their_ Marks. I guess, I just snapped.”

“Stop being dramatic, oh my god,” she smacked his arm and Newt felt his cheeks heating up at the thought that he probably sounded just like his mother.

“What’s up with you and this Aris guy, anyway?” he asked to change the subject but also because he was genuinely curious.

Sonya bit her lip to suppress a grin. “We’re kind of dating,” she confessed, eyes searching Newt’s reaction a little nervously.

A few months back, Newt realized, he would have been outraged. Now, though, he only felt sad. “Sonya—“

“Don’t,” she warned. “If you’re not happy for me, then just don’t say anything.”

Newt sighed, clenching and unclenching his fists around the sheets. “I _am_ happy for you. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t,” she said. “Look, I wanted to ask you. I kinda have a date with him today… will you cover for me?”

“You mean lie to mom?”

Sonya huffed an exasperated breath. “You’ve been lying to her every week ever since that first party. And besides, it’s not that big of a lie. It’s in time with our project work. We’ll go out together, you’ll crash at Minho’s and hopefully get some work done; I’ll meet with Aris, and then we’ll return home together.”

 _No,_ Newt thought instantly, _no._ After last night’s meltdown, being alone with Minho didn’t sound like something he could look forward to. Maybe he would just call off the whole meeting… He couldn’t bring himself to call the Asian. He’d have to apologize and it’d be better done tête-à-tête.

“Alright,” he said aloud. “Fine, I’ll help you. But this doesn’t mean I approve of your relationship with him.”

“Thank you,” she said, face softening. “This can’t be a bad thing, Newt. I feel happy.” The small reassurance made Newt smile. Sonya placed a quick kiss on his cheek and left.

Her words stayed with Newt.

 

* * *

 

Newt tried to recall the sequence of events that led to this nerve-wrecking situation. He was standing in front of Minho’s door, hand suspended mid-knock, heart forcefully breaking its way out of his ribcage. A fat drop of sweat trickled down from his temple, and Newt wiped it away with his free hand.

 _So stupid,_ he thought to himself. _Just knock, dammit._

His internal conflict was turning disturbingly self-affronting and he’d almost decided to screw it all and leave, when the door swung open. Minho’s dad stood on the threshold, eyebrows raised a fraction in surprise. “Newt!” he said, sounding like he’s genuinely pleased to see the boy. “Hey there. How’re you doing? Come on in!”

Resignedly, Newt took a few steps in. He kept his gaze glued to the floor, but Mr. Park seemed very cheerful about something, and he didn’t notice the slump of Newt’s shoulders.

“Hello, Mr. Park,” Newt said, trying to match the man’s grin.

“Where’s your sister?” Joonho asked, hand still on the doorknob.

“She couldn’t come today.”

“Ah, I see. I have to go right now, buddy, but Minho’s in his room and Kira’s probably still in the kitchen.” He touched his royal navy necktie, fiddled with it a little bit and then smoothed down its tail over his chest. “How do I look?” he asked a little worriedly.

Newt rushed to nod his head. “Ready to take over the world, Mr. Park,” he reassured in the most sincere voice he could muster. He wasn’t _lying,_ the man indeed looked very classy, but Newt felt that in his current state of misery he might not sound very convincing.

Minho’s dad grinned again. “I told you a hundred times, just call me Joonho. Right,” he fiddled with his tie some more, and then stepped out of the door with a heavy sigh of a man who was prepared to face death (or most probably his boss).

Newt’s heart sank a little. He made his way to the kitchen to greet Mrs. Park and received a warm hug and a tray with cookies to take with him when he went up to Minho’s room. These people were so nice and inviting to him. He cringed at the thought of his mom talking about Minho in the morning; the fact that Minho had to deal with rudeness every time he was invited over made him feel even guiltier and the thought was infuriating because he honestly felt _guilty enough_ with the weight of his behavior from last night, he didn’t _need_ this.

He shook his head, shoved a cookie into his mouth and climbed up the stairs of the Parks’ household. Uneasiness clawed at him from a dozen different angles, and he decided that rushing up there instead of going deliberately slow would give him less time to overthink.

When he knocked at the door, there was a muffled “mom?” from the other side, and before he could decide to leave the cookies on the floor and flee, Newt pushed the door and made his way inside.

Minho was sprawled on the bed with his eyes fixed on his phone. “I’ve done my laundry” he said dismissively. Newt cleared his throat; Minho looked up from the device in his hands and almost lost an eyebrow in a horrifically exaggerated attempt to feign surprise. “Blue eyes,” he acknowledged. “You brought cookies.”

“Your mom made them,” Newt replied awkwardly, setting the tray down. He tossed his backpack onto the bed and started taking out their books and notes, arranging them carefully on the floor.

“I know,” Minho said, mouth already stuffed with a cookie. “Where’s Sonya? I thought it’d be the other way round.”

“Huh?”

“I thought she’d come today and you wouldn’t.”

Newt nodded lamely. “She’s with Aris.”

Minho grunted and almost chocked. “They’re _a thing_?” he asked, letting pieces of chocolate chips fly in every direction.

“Yeah… I mean, I guess.”

“Are you okay?” Minho swallowed and swung his legs onto the bed, motioning for Newt to do the same. “You haven’t made eye contact from the minute you showed up.”

Despite himself, Newt didn’t miss how Minho passed the perfect opportunity to make a flirty comment on his eyes, like he’d normally do. “I’m so sorry, Minho.”

There was a moment’s silence in which Newt stared profusely at his own crossed legs.

“Hey,” Minho said. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Newt glanced up. Minho was looking at him with a small smile, legs mirroring the position in which Newt’s were folded.

“No, you shouldn’t have to deal with me talking bullshit just because I don’t know how to drink. I- I crossed the line, I should’ve been more responsible and I’m sorry. You’re not… disappointed in me or something, are you?”

At that, Minho rolled his eyes. “Dude, everything’s fine. Just don’t go all self-destructive on me again, okay?”

“Okay.” Involuntarily, Newt let out a little laugh. “I brought both the third and fourth volumes today.”

“I can’t believe we’ve actually gone that far!” Minho shoved another cookie in his mouth and placed his notes on his lap.

It was about an hour and a half later when Minho tossed the notebook away, irritated. “My brain’s gonna explode. Talk to me.” He rubbed his temples, then looked up at Newt when the latter didn’t speak. “Come on, distract me from my anguish. I have a headache.”

“I’d rather let you suffer.”

Minho snorted, spitting out a disgusting little blob of chewed cookie. “Nah you wouldn’t, I trust you.”

It was as if a switch turned on. It was so casually said and Minho’s words probably didn’t have as deep of a meaning as Newt had let them be but they weighed on the blonde. He contemplated for a moment whether he should tell Minho that it meant a lot to him to have Minho’s trust and that it was a huge step for him to be able to trust a _Rebel_ back, but chose against it. “Can I ask you something?” he asked instead, scooping a little closer.

“I don’t know, can you?”

“Don’t talk like a teacher, that’s not exactly a turn on. It’s about Sonya.”

“What about her?”

“…okay, maybe not exactly her. This Aris guy. Do you know him?”

Minho nodded, more serious now. “Let me guess, you want to know whether he’s worth your sister’s love. This whole Overprotective Big Brother thing is very cliché, you know.” His serious demeanor cracked. “Don’t worry, he’s a cool guy. Totally trustable. The kind that’d buy flowers for your sister and your mom and you and even your dog if you all weren’t so freaking traditional.”

Newt scoffed. “We don’t have a dog.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“So I can trust him to take care of my sister?”

“Totally. Relax.” Minho flicked his wrist demonstratively and shoved the cookie he’d grabbed into his mouth.

“You ate them all, you asshole.” Newt crossed his arms, eyeing the last cookie on the tray.

Minho followed his gaze and almost choked again. He flung his arm to push Newt away, the other reaching for the cookie. Newt struggled, pulling the tray out of Minho’s reach. The Asian snatched his wrist, so Newt wouldn’t get to the cookie.

Five minutes later, Newt’s hair was showered in the remnants of a cookie and Minho was gasping for air in a hysterical fit of laughter.

“Did you… _really_ … smash the freaking cookie on my head… just so that I won’t have it?” Newt groaned, shaking his hair.

“If I can’t have it, nobody will,” Minho declared proudly. He reached out and ruffled Newt’s hair. The crumbled pieces of chocolate rained down on the bed.

Newt batted his hand away. “You’re a horrible person. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve been told.” Minho quickly retreated his hand and turned to fix his wristband, probably having noticed that it slipped.

Newt was instantly reminded of last night, the way he lashed out at Minho and then asked to see his Mark, and Minho’s gentle refusal along with the odd feeling of rejection that followed. He reached out and touched his own wristband; the soft material of it was so familiar to his touch.

“There should be a way of gluing these damn things to your wrist so they don’t move around,” Minho muttered in exasperation. Then he looked up at Newt and, noticing the distressed expression on his face, frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I shouldn’t have asked you about your Mark yesterday. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it–“

‘No, really, I’m sorry.”

Minho looked at him in that way he sometimes did, like he could see everything that was going on in the blonde’s head. He reached out and touched Newt’s cheek lightly with just the tips of his fingers. Newt shivered, willing his eyes not to fall shut.

“You worry too much, Blue Eyes. You’d be so much happier if you just allowed yourself to relax.”

 _He’ll use you_ , his mother’s voice rang in his mind, sharp and cold, like a piece of broken glass.

 _I feel happy,_ Sonya’s voice whispered, her smile audible in the three simple words.

Newt looked at Minho. Minho, who was funny and cheesy and sweet and pretty, and for the first time Newt allowed himself to see the boy in a way he was not supposed to. Minho’s hand felt warm against his cheek and Minho’s eyes flicked, very briefly, to his lips. It was enough to make his heart jump. He wasn’t ready for this yet, was he?

Minho’s hand dropped. He leaned back and grabbed the notebook he chucked away a while ago. “We better get working. Sonya will chop our heads off if she finds out we’ve been doing nothing this entire time. Though I must admit, we did make quite a lot of progress in the comparison of Pier’s wives — damn that motherfucker, — but I think-”

Newt kissed him. Grabbed both sides of Minho’s collar and pulled him in, crashing their lips together. Minho tumbled forward in surprise, barely managing to extend his arms and brace himself in a hovering position as they fell over.  

Newt felt his back hit the bed and for a moment, he panicked, thinking he’d screwed things up, but then there were hands on the both sides of his head, dipping into the mattress, and then Minho’s lips were pressing down on his with an insisting force.

Instinctively, Newt reached out and took the Asian’s face in his hands. He felt Minho’s lips part slightly, moving forward to capture more his, the steady pressure of the kiss leaving his head dizzy.

He realized two things at once: his eyes were squeezed shut so tightly it almost hurt, and his fingers trembled against Minho’s cheeks. He forced his eyes to relax and tried to copy the way Minho moved his lips. He almost smiled when he managed to initiate a change of the angle.

His whole body was alive with fire. It was a whirlwind of a thousand emotions, all of them new and overwhelming for Newt. Each point of contact sent rockets of shiver all over his skin and it was so damn _good,_ Newt wanted to mold himself against Minho’s heat and let it consume him.

He almost pulled Minho back in when the boy started pulling away, but luckily, his hands were too shaky to manage controlling the Asian’s face.

“Shit,” Minho whispered, arms shaking with the effort to keep himself up, face only inches away from Newt. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” Newt let out a trembling laugh and Minho ducked his head down to kiss him again. Newt tilted his head up into the touch, hands snaking their way up to Minho’s hair. Minho angled his head and kissed him impossibly deeper; Newt felt his shoulders squeezing into the soft surface of the bed with the force of it.

The concept of time was lost. Minho seemed to suck out all the air he had in his lungs and Newt felt lightheaded with this weird feeling of being breathless with someone else’s touch.

When it got too much, Minho released his lips, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth and moving down to hover over his throat. Newt could feel shivers of hot, ragged breath brushing against the sensitive skin of his neck and he almost let a tiny noise escape his throat, but Minho pulled away.

The Asian sat upright, hair deliciously disheveled and eyes still a little wide. Newt followed him, folding his legs again. Newt’s hand unwillingly moved to touch his lips. “Nobody told me kissing feels so nice,” he said in a daze.

Minho laughed, eyes so soft with fondness Newt couldn’t keep looking at them, so he looked down. “Nice?”

“I—“

“What happened to following the System?” Minho’s voice was full of laughter, but he didn’t sound mocking or accusing.

The words still struck Newt harder than they should have. “I don’t—I don’t know.” He’d gone from feeling giddy to feeling horrified in a span of ten seconds. “I don’t—I’m—“

“Relax,” Minho whispered. “Newt, it’s okay, relax. You don’t owe me anything, okay? If you need to think about this, you have as much time as you want.”

“Crap, Min, I’m—I’m sorry,” Newt sighed. “I’m a mess.”

Minho shook his head in disagreement. Newt couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and plant a brief kiss on his lips, so he did just that.

“I take it you don’t regret this?” the Asian smiled, but Newt didn’t miss the concealed vulnerability behind the question.

“Even I’m not repressed enough to deny that this was the best thing I’ve ever done. Crap, I just—I just need some time to process… everything.”

Minho flashed him a million dollar smile and raised his notebook. “As much as I enjoyed kissing those pretty lips,” he laughed at the blush spreading on Newt’s face, “we gotta work now. Sonya. Slow death. Remember?”

 

* * *

 

It was late – that was all Newt knew. His eyes snapped open, body giving a startled jolt that had him sitting up in bed. The faint sound of clinking glass that echoed in his room was oddly familiar, but he was too sleepy to place it. 

He’d almost drifted off again, brushing the sounds off as a realistic dream, but every time he was about to shut his eyes, the clink repeated, forcing them back open. Newt yawned unceremoniously and reached out for his phone to check the time.

 

00:38

Thursday, 29th July

7 new messages

 

One of the messages was from his mom and the other six were from Minho. The clink on his window made him jump.

“Minho!” Newt hissed, peeking his head out. “What the hell are you doing here? It’s not Friday!”

Minho just waved his hands around and motioned for Newt to get down.

“What’s going on?” he whispered once outside, concern nesting in his chest.

“I’ve texted you—you didn’t see?”

Newt shook his head.

“Oh, I thought—I wanted to go out.”

“Tonight?”

“Do you wanna?”

Newt thought about his friends and the bone-melting music and the burn of alcohol in his throat. “Yeah. Give me a minute, I’ll dress and wake Sonya.”

“No—I thought… maybe tonight it could be just the two of us?”

Newt stared at him for a moment, eyes searching.

“Don’t feel pressured or anything. I just wanted to spend some time with you, that’s    all,” Minho added sheepishly.

It took Newt an instant to nod, and then few more to get up and put on some clothes.

Minho’s van felt strangely empty without Sonya’s excited chatter, but they drove in a comfortable silence. Newt’s mind wandered back to the kiss – his first kiss – and he found himself smiling involuntarily. He still couldn’t quite believe he’d been brave enough to initiate it and he still couldn’t believe Minho gave him space to think. The last week and a half haven’t been as awkward as he thought it would be; if Sonya noticed the lingering glances and subtle smiles he and Minho shared, she didn’t say anything, and he was grateful for that.

“What’re you thinking about?” Minho’s voice startled him out of his daze.

“What?”

“I’m wondering what you’re thinking about. Judging from your grin, it must be pretty good.”

Newt quickly tried to rearrange his features but only ended up smiling again. Minho laughed at this and the blond joined him. “I was thinking about last week,” he confessed eventually, hoping that Minho would know what exactly he meant.

Minho’s hand jerked on the steering wheel, which confirmed that he did. “You were?”

“I can’t really stop thinking about it.”

At that moment, the car stopped on a red light and Minho turned his head to look at Newt. Newt was staring at him, eyes curious and a little wide. “I think a lot about it too,” he said.

Their gazes met and Newt looked away quickly, cheeks heating up. Minho yearned to ask if he could kiss him again, if he could reach out and touch Newt’s lips… Instead, he stepped on the pedal, grateful for the distraction.

The subject was dropped and Minho did his best to ignore the feeling of Newt’s eyes on him for the rest of the ride. Thankfully, with the mostly deserted streets, they arrived sooner than he’d expected.

“Where are we?” Newt asked, looking unsure. Somewhere in the distance loud music was blaring through the air.

Minho only ever took them to house parities, which were, if not quiet, at least safe. Right now no households were around.

“We never got to dance together,” Minho explained, grinning. “No one will be watching us here. You’ll be able to move more freely.”

 _“Dance?”_ Newt spluttered, panicking. “We’re at a—?”

“Club. We’re at a night club. Look, if you’re not comfortable, we can leave. I just—, I thought that it’ll be fun and I wanted you to be somewhere where you didn’t know anybody so that you wouldn’t feel embarrassed.”

Newt looked unsure, but gave a slight nod.

“We can leave any moment you want,” Minho assured and grabbed Newt’s hand. They skipped the line and slipped in after Minho exchanged a few words with the bouncer.

It was _loud._ The atmosphere was dark and hot and the air smelled of sweat. Bodies pressed together, dancing and grinding and kissing; it was dirty and a whole new level of inappropriate for Newt. By now he was used to people making out at parties, but this was different.

He hadn’t realized how his grip on Minho’s hand tightened until he felt Minho squeezing back comfortingly. He managed another glance around the place before he was pulled towards the bar.

This part, he liked. Alcohol helped him loosen up and feel freer. Minho shoved some sophisticated-looking concoction into his hand; Newt took a gulp straight away and grimaced.

“Woah, slow down,” Minho yelled over the music, giving him a piece of lime. “Take a bite out of this next time you drink.”

Newt nodded, following the instructions. Surprisingly, the lime actually tasted sweet after the drink. Newt downed four shots before Minho pulled him out of the bar and towards the dance floor.

Newt shook his head quickly, but Minho was insistent. He moved his body to the beat, smiling up at Newt, who just swayed somewhat awkwardly. After a couple of minutes, Minho shook his head and put his hands on Newt’s hips, turning him around so that Newt’s back was pressed against his chest.  

“This okay?” Minho’s voice was right in his ear and Newt nodded slowly.

Minho’s fingers were firm on his sides and Newt realized there was a slight pressure on his hips, as though Minho was trying to guide him.

“Relax,” the voice said in his ear. “Try to feel the music.”

It was mind-numbing, whatever this was. Ripple after ripple of shivers left Newt feeling lightheaded and _strange._ The sound of music blurred in his ears, way too loud for Newt to hear even his own thoughts. It felt like the air was loaded with electricity, dissolving into his skin and shooting straight to his veins.

Newt spun around quickly, coming face to face with Minho. The boy had a smile on his face, hair wet from sweat sticking to his forehead. Newt allowed his eyes to steal a glance at the lips he had kissed mere days ago and his brain short-circuited when he found Minho’s tongue tracing the bottom line of them, leaving them wet and _so temptingly inviting._

Subconsciously, Newt’s hands wound themselves around Minho’s neck, hyperaware of the still persistent pressure on his hips. His fingers brushed against the skin of Minho’s nape, hot and slippery and so surprisingly _delicate._ He couldn’t resist the urge of placing the whole flat of his palm on it, finding that his hand fit the curve of Minho’s neck like it belonged there.

Thoughts of Soulmates and Soulmarks and the System invaded his mind, words like _meant to be_ and _made for each other_ circling over his head and seemingly traveling right to the tips of his fingers, where his skin pressed against Minho’s.

“Why’d you bring me here?” he asked impulsively, feeling how Minho’s body shuddered. The grip on his hips squeezed once, unwillingly.

“I wanted to show you.” A feather-like touch, almost imperceptible, but thunderous for Newt’s sensitive nerve endings, slid its way under the hem of Newt’s shirt, the sudden amplification of skin on skin contact emitting a breathless gasp from the blond.

“Show me?” Newt repeated, letting one of his hands slide down Minho’s shoulder, feeling each curve of muscle, then slip to the Asian’s arm, coming to a halt on Minho’s wristband. Newt could almost feel the blood color of it through the point of contact. His heart constricted with the throb of Minho’s vein under his fingertip before Minho pulled his hand away.

“Not that,” Minho said, somewhat amused. “I want you to see that you’re not the same person you used to be before meeting me. You are _here,_ Newt, in a club, dancing, _having fun_. This is you. You’re allowed to have this.” He let go of Newt’s hips and raised his hands in front of him, as if saying, _look at you._

Newt shook his head, body swaying with the music. His arms, still outstretched from their previous position on Minho’s neck, moved back up on their own accord and Newt danced like he’d never danced before. He ignored his mum’s voice in his head, ignored the worry that was edging on him, ignored everything that wasn’t the music in that very moment.

“This is wrong,” he said to no one, but somehow Minho heard him amidst the blaring music and the noise of people around them.

“We can leave,” he offered, but Newt shook his head.

“I don’t care,” he said and laughed. “I don’t _care._ Min, this is fun. This is _nice._ I don’t care what mom says. I don’t care what _anyone_ says.”

Minho smiled at him, the crinkles around his eyes ever so soft and genuine. He outstretched his hand and Newt took it with no hesitation, allowing himself to be led away, because this was Minho, and he trusted Minho more than he trusted himself.

 

* * *

 

They were on the roof of a random garage somewhere in uptown, kissing. Newt had no idea where they were, and frankly, he didn’t care.

Minho’s lips felt nice against his, and the touch of his hand on Newt’s cheek was reassuring. Newt clung to him, fingers clutching at the front of Minho’s shirt, pulling him closer with every shared breath they took. It was an all-consuming feeling; Newt felt like Minho kissed with his whole body and with his whole soul.

Somehow, Newt knew where to put his hands, how to angle his head – it was _natural,_ like an instinct he never knew he had. A silly thought occurred to him; he could kiss Minho like this forever and nothing in the world could be as equally tempting. The way it made him feel, the good, oh so good quiver, it was addictive.

Suddenly, Newt was scared. It felt too _right,_ holding Minho like this, molding into his embrace like it was the safest place in the world, letting him do all those things that set every inch of Newt’s body ablaze. Weren’t Soulmates supposed to make you feel like this? The very thought would have terrified him if it weren’t for the tiny persistent voice in his head, chiming that _maybe it’s him, maybe he’s your Soulmate._

Minho’s right hand was on his waist; one tiny squirm, one deliberately clumsy movement, and Newt could’ve moved the red wristband and take a glance. Just one tiny peek. After suffering so much because of the System and his stupid Mark, he deserved to step on the easy path just once.

His thoughts evaporated, when Minho’s lips brushed against his neck. His spine melted into a puddle, and he almost collapsed onto his back like the very first time they kissed, except this time Minho was ready to catch him. It felt as though every graze of Minho’s teeth resonated through the whole length of his arms and legs. This was _new._

“Min,” Newt whispered, resisting the urge to throw his head back and let Minho work his magic. “It’s getting late,” he tried to squirm away, and after an immensely displeased sigh, Minho let him.

“It’s 4 AM, Newt. I don’t think that _it’s getting late_ is an appropriate phrase here.” Minho’s voice was a little breathless and Newt laughed, giddy with whatever just happened between them.

Newt looked away before he could start thinking about how mesmerizing Minho looked at that very moment. They trailed towards Minho’s van, hands brushing against each other, skin still tingling with the aftertaste of kissing. Minho wondered if it would be too bold to intertwine their fingers together, but before he could think too much about it, they reached the car.

The ride home wasn’t long but Minho didn’t miss the way Newt’s eyes were fixed on his red wrist the whole time. He was trying to be subtle about it, but it was hard not to notice. Minho sighed.

“You’re staring at my hands.”

Newt snapped out of it. “Am not!” he protested.

“Yeah, whatever.” Minho rolled his eyes playfully, glad that Newt didn’t ask him about his Mark again. “Did you enjoy tonight?”

Newt blinked, confused for a second. “Is that a joke?”

“What? No—“

“Of _course_ I enjoyed it, Min.”

Minho smiled, but his eyes looked indecisive. He wants to say something but he doesn't know if he should, Newt realized. He contemplated asking Minho if there was anything wrong, but the car stopped before he even realized he was home.

“Thank you for today,” he said sincerely.

Minho gave him a smile and Newt opened his door to get out. He leaned over, placed a quick peck on Minho’s lips, and climbed out of the car. That seemed to do it for Minho.

“Newt— wait!” Minho readjusted his wristband nervously, a state that looked so uncharacteristic on him that Newt’s mind was immediately filled with concern. Has he done something wrong? “What— I don't…” Minho sighed. “What does this make us?” 

That… wasn't really what Newt had been expecting. “I don't know,” he said honestly, and then, seeing the flash of hurt in Minho's eyes, hurried to explain. “But it’s definitely something. I'm just— new to this all. I don't really know what I feel or what that means. The only thing I'm certain about is that I like you a lot.”

That was the first time he'd admitted his feelings for Minho out loud and to Newt's great relief, it didn't feel wrong. But he couldn't just… proclaim Minho his boyfriend, could he? Minho wasn't his Soulmate, or at least he claimed not to be.

Minho smiled, an edge of sadness on his face. “Okay. I’ll wait,” he said simply, and drove off.       

Newt looked after him for a long and silent while, but despite his inner conflict, it took him one thought about Minho's lips on his to get him grinning full force. Maybe he _would_ become Minho's boyfriend. Screw absolutely every single thing and every single person that told him he couldn't. Before Minho he hadn't known what it was like to crush on someone and know that they liked you back. And perhaps he could've lived with the lack of that knowledge, that one experience for as many years as it took him to find his Soulmate, but now that he's had a taste, he could never let go. If his little sister was brave enough to oppose the System, he could do it too.

His mind a jumbled mess, Newt carefully pushed the front door open. There was light coming from the living room, and muffled sobbing of a female. His heart wrenched so violently, his knees almost gave out. The door swung shut behind him and before he could realize that he’d let go of it, it banged noisily against the doorframe. His mother's face peeked out from the living room instantly.

”Isaac!” she cried, relieved. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight to her chest. Newt had a minute's break to figure out what could've happened before Lisa pulled away. ”You should've awakened me! You left your phone at home in a rush, did you know? Oh, darling, don't look at me like that, she's fine, she came back!”

”What—” she grabbed Newt’s arm and pulled him into the room, cutting him off. There, on the couch, was Sonya, curled in on herself. Her shoulders were shaking with sobs, her weeps muffled and tiny and broken.

”Oh my god, Sonya, what happened?” Newt fell on his knees in front of her and tugged at her wrists gently. She moved them away from her face, wiping away the dripping black of her eyeliner.

”I was too loud so I woke mum up when I got home,” she explained.

”Where were you?”

”I—” she asked Lisa to get her a glass of water and then inclined her head close to Newt so that their mom wouldn't hear from the kitchen. ”I woke up and saw that you were gone so I thought I'd go out too. I called Aris and we met up and everything was so nice but then he—he broke up with me, Newt.”

For a moment, the overwhelming urge to shout _I told you so_ almost made Newt bang a fist on the table, but he resisted. After all, he was contemplating his own relationship with Minho mere minutes ago.

“I told mom that I went out cause I was feeling upset about arguing with Rachel and I told her that you'd gone out to find me. She started yelling and asked why you didn't wake her up, but I told her that you didn’t want to worry her and you wanted to cover me. You know, find me before she realized I was gone.” She smiled then, a weak and sad smile and Newt wanted nothing more than to hug and comfort her.

” _You_ covered for _me,_ ” he said, squeezing her hands in his.

”You left your phone in your room and I saw Minho’s texts so I figured you were with him.”

Newt wasn't sure whether to be mad at her for reading his texts, but he figured that if she'd disappeared in the middle of the night and left her phone behind, he would've done the same. And besides, this wasn't the best time to tell her off.

Lisa came back into the room with a glass of water. ”You could’ve talked to me about what upset you, baby,” she said tiredly. She was in her nightgown, a long pale silk-robe, and her black wristband stood out startlingly against it.

Sonya just shrugged.

”I hate seeing you upset, Sonya,” Lisa tried. “I know we don’t have the best mother-daughter relationship out there, but I want us to try and communicate. You’ve argued with your best friend, that’s okay! If you’d just tell me, I would try and help you and Newt wouldn’t have to go out to look for you at this ungodly hour. Who knows what could’ve happened to both of you!”

It was sad, because she was trying. Newt watched with quiet dejection as Sonya rolled her eyes and got up. “You don’t know anything about either of us, mom. You wouldn’t understand so there’s no point in trying to share with you at all.” Her sobs have calmed down somewhat and she was trying – and failing – to keep her voice from shaking.

“But if you’d just tell me, I _would_ know everything I ought to know about you as your mother. You never tell me things, darling—“

“You don’t—“ Sonya interrupted, and then took a long, steadying breath. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Lisa looked desperate and Newt wanted to go back to the roof of that random garage, into Minho’s arms and far, far away from family drama. Except now he wasn’t sure about that too.

“What makes you say that?” Lisa asked.

Sonya opened her mouth, bloodshot eyes hard with determination, but then closed it again. She grabbed Newt’s arm and tugged at it, pulling him upstairs with her without a single word. Newt threw a glace over his shoulder at their mom, sitting alone in the middle of the couch, looking utterly lost, and mouthed a _‘sorry’._

“WHAT MAKES ME SAY THAT?!” Sonya yelled as soon as they were in her room and her door was safely locked. “What makes me say that?! Is she serious? She treats Minho like he’s invisible and then expects me to open up to her about my Rebel boyfriend!” Her shoulders sagged so suddenly, Newt had to blink to make sure his sight wasn’t playing tricks on him. “My ex-boyfriend,” she corrected herself.

“Sonya,” Newt said and held out his arms, offering silent comfort. She hugged him, tight, so tight it hurt his ribs.

“You were right,” she whispered. “Dating him was a stupid idea. I’m an idiot, I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re not,” Newt kissed the top of her head and rocked them back and forth, hoping it would help calm her down. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. You _told_ me, she _told_ me and I didn’t listen. We’ve been dating for three months and he dumped me,” she wept, tiny in her brother’s arms. “I’m so weak, wow. I should stop crying, this is embarrassing.”

Newt hugged her impossibly closer. “No. It’ll make you feel better, let it all out, little sister. There’s nothing embarrassing about crying over somebody you love.”

She stiffened at his words, and pushed away gently. “You should go to sleep,” she said, voice quiet and full of emotions Newt couldn’t place. “Get some rest. I’ll be fine.”

“But Sonya—“

“Really, Newt. Dating a random guy,” she scoffed, her face twisting at her own words. “I should’ve just waited for the right person to show up, like you. I guess that makes you smarter than me.”

Newt offered her a weak smile, _Minho, boyfriend, Soulmates, fate_ jumbling in his mind into a pile of rubbish. _I’m a bigger fool than you, sister,_ he thought. _I understood, I more than knew that this could only lead to heartbreak, yet I still let you do it and I almost did it myself. If anyone’s a fool here, it’s me._

“Goodnight, Newt,” she said, not looking him in the eyes.

“Goodnight, Sonya. Thanks for covering for me.”

With that, he went into his room and closed the door. He could hear his mother sobbing softly through his left wall and his sister weeping through the right one.

He didn’t sleep that night.

He thought.

 

* * *

 

“You’re avoiding me.”

Newt startled, dropping the book he was examining onto the floor. He was at work and the library was full of people, but he didn’t expect Minho, out of everybody in the world, to come here.

“Hello,” he said, habitually readjusting his white wristband, and picked up the book from where it fell.

“Hey.” Minho watched him as he folded the page where he stopped reading, eyes lingering on the words to at least finish the sentence. “Newt,” he urged, concerned. “Is everything okay? It’s been almost a week. I’ve been calling and texting and I even showed up at your place on Friday, but your mom said I’m not welcome. And then I tried the window but neither you nor Sonya reacted.”

The words made him feel guilty, but Newt didn’t let it show on his face. “Everything’s fine,” he told Minho. “We just had some family drama going on.”

“Oh.” Minho rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “So we’re… fine?”

Newt didn’t know the answer to that question, so he shrugged. He knew he was hurting Minho, but what else could he do? Everything happened exactly like Newt had expected; Sonya dated someone she was not supposed to and it ended with heartbreak. It was all the proof of his mother’s words that he needed. He wasn’t about to repeat the mistake he let his sister make.

That didn’t make it any easier. Minho looked confused, if not bewildered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Minho, let’s discuss this after my shift is over, okay?”

“You can’t just make out with me and disappear for a week, Newt! Contrary to what everyone says, I actually do have feelings too.”

“Minho!” Newt hissed. “Keep your voice down. I’m at work and there are people around! I’m not talking about… _that_ here!”

He didn’t look at the boy, not to see his expression, but he could see with his peripheral vision that Minho was trying to catch his eyes. Eventually, the brunet said a single “fine” and stomped out of the library.

Newt’s whole body sagged. Technically Minho had done nothing wrong, and Newt knew that, he _knew_ that, but he was only trying to look at the bigger picture. Someday, sooner or later, if they don’t break things off like Sonya and Aris did, his or Minho’s actual Soulmate will show up and things will just get messy.

He snapped at the girl who approached him, and shoved the rest of the books he was supposed to sort out into the shelves. Why did things have to be so complicated? It would have been easier if dating anybody but your Soulmate was illegal, he thought.

When the workday ended, Newt, for the first time since he was hired, did not want to leave. He lingered, dusting random shelves and picking out books to put them back in again for another hour, before his supervisor approached him and asked if there was a change in his schedule. Newt told her that he’s staying in to read.

“Do you have your ID with you?” she asked.

“No,” Newt said with a sigh.

At that, the woman looked around. She had an odd sort of look about her, like she was actively debating something in her mind. “You can stay,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially. “But you’ll have to work.” She coughed, like she wanted to cover up what she just said, and smiled at Newt with one of the exaggerated smiles she used for customers. 

“Um. Oh-kay?” Newt said uncertainly.

She nodded curtly, still keeping up the pleasant façade of a public service worker. “You do realize it won’t bring you extra benefit ‘cause technically, you’re not here right now and you’re not working?”

“I’m at home,” Newt immediately replied. “Or at the park. Or somewhere. Not here.”

Her face softened. “Good,” she said and walked off towards a group of giggling girls, probably to tell them off for being too loud. She takes things too seriously, Newt thought, but didn’t dare to laugh at her cautiousness when it came to following the rules. That’d make him a hypocrite; Newt was anything but reluctant to admit that he might be overreacting to Sonya’s breakup with Aris.  

He picked up the cloth he used to wipe the dust off books. It didn’t keep him from thinking about all things depressing and nerve-wrecking, but at least it gave him something to do. Even though avoiding Minho could only last for so long, Newt was willing to give it a try for as long as it would work.

Books came and books went and Newt stopped even paying attention to the titles as he wiped and wiped and wiped, so furiously, he could feel the hardcovers rubbing his fingertips raw through the cloth. A girl asked him something about deadlines at some point, but he doesn’t remember what he told her. He just really wanted to be left alone, which wasn’t uncommon, but the force of it made him feel even more miserable than he already was.

Minho surely got tired of waiting and left by now, yet Newt found that he did not want to leave the library. He felt like if he stopped cleaning, if he left this place where he’s supposed to look professional, he’d crumble.  He chucked the book he was holding at the bookshelf in frustration.

It hit several other books and they tumbled down onto the floor unceremoniously. This was so unlike him that Newt actually needed a moment to process what he just did. He bent down to fix the mess he just made, and _of course,_ they were books about true love of soulmates. By now, he shouldn’t be surprised at the range of bad luck that followed him his entire life.

Tears pricked at the back of his eyes, so Newt left the books jumbled on the floor, and left. Nobody noticed him go, and he thought that perhaps that was the only ounce of luck that he was destined to have that day. Life was easy – you live, you get your Mark, you wait for your Soulmate and you are happy. Why were things always so complicated with him?

It’s been five hours since he told Minho to leave, so it startled the life out of him to see Minho’s van parked on the opposite side of the street. The boy himself had his forehead leaning against the steering wheel. His fingers drummed against his own head softly. He’d waited.

Newt had ignored him, been rude to him, and yet he waited. That did nothing to lessen the blond boy’s urge to cry. It had quite the opposite effect. Feeling like an utter piece of garbage, Newt shoved his hands in his pockets and walked down the street before Minho could see him.

It seemed like his luck really had ran out. “Newt!” Minho yelled, and Newt proceeded to run. He didn’t make it far. “Newt!” Minho said and there was actual anger in his voice this time. He grabbed Newt’s sleeve a little roughly to stop him, but then let go quickly. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Newt swallowed and kept his eyes at level with Minho’s. If he’d relax one muscle, if he’d let himself loose for one tiny second, tears would slip and he wasn’t about to have that. “I was going home before you grabbed me.”

“What- did I do something? Is it something I did?” Minho asked, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry if I fucked up, I didn’t mean to push you. I’m- I thought we were getting somewhere?”

Newt swallowed down a noise of sympathy. It wasn’t _fair_ to do this to Minho, but Newt knew better than to feel bad for him. “What are you expecting of me?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest somewhat defensively. “I can’t give you anything you want, Minho. We’re not Soulmates. Unless-“ Newt’s eyes dropped to Minho’s wrist.

Minho clutched his wrist protectively. “I thought that didn’t matter to you? Not after… everything we’ve done?”

“It does matter to me. See, that’s the thing. You don’t even know me; you don’t know what I want or what I need. You can’t be good for me.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“Aris dumped Sonya.” Newt waited for the shock, the surprise to surface on Minho’s face, but all that came was a split second of… anger?

“So you think I’m going to dump you too?” he asked a little too loudly. 

Newt sucked in a breath and looked around apprehensively. Then, with calculated care, he touched Minho’s wrist and indicated with his eyes that they should probably find a more private place for a conversation like this. Minho’s eyes had no sympathy.

“We can talk at my place,” he said, a little more coldly than he really wanted.

Newt nodded, without letting his hesitation show. Was it a bad idea to go back to the place he had his first kiss at? Yes. Was he too proud to admit it? Also yes.

So he went.

  

* * *

 

There was no music in the van, so the silence between them was particularly awkward. Newt sat at the front, hugging himself loosely as he stared out of the window with a persistent force. He couldn’t see whether Minho had tried to make eye contact and he wasn’t really eager to find out. He would tell Minho about his fears. If Minho felt anything for him, he’d understand.

A light tapping came from his left, and Newt imagined Minho’s fingers drumming against the steering wheel. He thought for a moment that it would be better to start a conversation, say something along the lines of “you waited for me for five hours even though I was being a dick and this really isn’t making it easy for me to convince myself that I should let you go but other than that how’re you doing,” but that seemed like too much at once, so he stayed unsettlingly silent.

Minho didn’t seem like he was about to initiate any interaction either, so after a brief mental debate, Newt just let it go. He focused on the road, expertly pretending that the cute handholding couples weren’t there and finding comfort in the thought that he’s probably not the only person who’s ever felt conflicted about the System.

Mrs. Park greeted him with her usual hospitality and offered a slice of cake she’d baked to celebrate her husband’s promotion. Newt politely declined and she smiled, a genuine, perhaps a little teasing smile, and told them that she should let them alone to their undoubtedly important business.

Minho’s room was painfully too familiar. “We should have gone somewhere else,” he mumbled.

“You wanted privacy. I gave you the most private place there was to talk. Now talk.”

Newt settled for an apologetic face. “We can’t… _be_ together, Minho,” he said gently. “Until now, a part of me hoped that you’re my Soulmate, but you’re too stubborn to admit it. And it’s pathetic to admit, but I still hold on to that shred of hope. You won’t show me your Mark, even though you’ve seen mine, without my consent, and I’m not gonna push you anymore.”

Minho shook his head firmly. “Stop guilt-tripping me. This isn’t about my Mark. And apparently it’s not even about yours. It’s about Aris and Sonya.”

“You didn’t seem awfully scandalized when I told you.”

“It’s because I knew,” Minho explained. “Aris knows that Sonya’s my friend so he came to speak to me.”

Newt felt a pang of rage ignite somewhere inside him. “Talk about what? The best way to break up with her? How to break her heart _gently?”_ he all but spat. “Tell him it didn’t fucking work. She’s in pieces.”

“If anybody winded up with a broken heart, it was Aris, Newt,” Minho said. 

Newt felt his fist itch to punch him. “Of course you’d take his side, but you know what? I don’t care. I don’t give a fuck about any of this, all I know is that they weren’t Soulmates and they dated because they’re idiots and now my sister is miserable and I’m not about to repeat her mistakes.”

“You’re quick to make assumptions, Blue Eyes. Did you ask her _why_ Aris broke it off?”

Newt faltered. “She said that she didn’t wanna talk about it,” he said honestly.

“Well, I’ll tell you then,” Minho said, and he sounded so unapologetically harsh, it made something in Newt shift. “He told her that he loves her. He told her that it’s okay if she doesn’t return his feelings yet, that she doesn’t need to say the words back, that he’ll wait as long as it takes for her to come to terms with this because he knows it’s new for her.”

Newt _felt_ the color leaving his face. His heart rate accelerated for some reason, and he realized that he’s breathing hard. Is _that_ why Sonya tensed and pulled up her defenses when Newt said that it was hard to lose the people that you love?

“She told him that she _didn’t mean for it to go this far._ ” Minho laughed, a bitter, empty laugh of somebody who was tired of fighting against everything and everyone. “She told him that she’d just meant to experiment before she met her Soulmate. After he told her that he’s in love. But even after that, he asked if he had a chance of ever becoming anything serious to Sonya.”

“She said no?” Newt whispered. She looked so wrecked yesterday, there was no way she didn’t feel anything for that boy. Newt was almost sure until now that she was falling for him.

“She said yes,” Minho answered. “But she also said that she’d leave him when she found her actual Soulmate. Rebels are also people, Newt. They have feelings. You can’t just treat them like something temporary because of the color of their wristband.”

Newt was silent for a long and pensive moment. His heart ached for Aris and for his sister and for the whole goddamn System. “Min,” he said and cringed at the way he sounded. “I’m…. I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

Minho cut him off with a sigh. “This isn’t a game,” he explained slowly. “I care about you, Newt. I _like_ you and I hope that maybe we’ll build something worth trying this out. But if I’m temporary for you, then you’re right. It won’t work. I don’t know what to say. It’s your choice.”

Newt looked at Minho. At his spiked hair and chocolate eyes and the crease of his dimples and the arch of his eyebrows and lastly, at the red band around his wrist. He knew that Minho followed the movement of his eyes, and he was thankful that Minho didn’t comment on it.

“You know,” Newt said a little uncertainly. “It’s stupid of me to hope that you’re my Soulmate. If you were, you’d tell me. You _would,_ ” he insisted when he saw Minho was about to protest. “But… I’ve never felt like this before. I don’t know if it’s because this is my first experience or for some other reason, but I… yeah. I care about you, too. I do. And it’s hard, Min, it’s so hard for me cause in my core, I feel like it’s wrong and I don’t understand how feeling like this, how _this all_ can ever be considered wrong, but that’s just how I was raised. I- I can’t get rid of it in a day. I don’t know what’s the right thing to do.” He sighed, a deep and exhausted sound of resignation. “But I’m willing to try if you are. If you’re not my Soulmate and the actual one shows up, I can’t tell you how I’ll react. I don’t know how deep my feelings for you would be at that point. You have to understand, I can’t give you any promises.”

Minho watched him, silent. His face was unreadable and that shut Newt up for a second, in fear that he’s talking nonsense and he should just turn around and leave. But he’d said way too much now to back off, so he went on.

“You can’t expect me to tell my mom right away. This sucks, but if we do the whole… _dating_ thing, then it’ll have to be secret, at least before I’m ready to confront my family about it.”

Minho nodded, as if to say that he understands.

“Please, say something,” Newt said, completely defeated.

“I have absolutely no self-preservation. I feel like I’m putting my heart out on display in front of a dozen hammers ready to smash it.” He laughed, a humorless laugh. “But I’m willing to try for you. Damn you, Blue Eyes. I’m willing to try.”

All the muscles in Newt’s body immediately relaxed. He realized how incredibly tense he’d been all this time and before he could stop it, he laughed too. “We’re both risking a lot. Hell, I came here with the intention of breaking off whatever it was between us.” He paused, thought about what he was going to say, and then decided to go for it. “If that’s not how Soulmates are tied, to always end up together no matter what, then I’m not sure I want to find mine.”

Minho touched his wrist. “I want to kiss you,” he said, like it was something that’s been at the tip of his tongue for a while now.

Newt laughed again, eyes a little watery this time. “You should probably do something about that.” He closed his eyes instinctively when Minho took a step forward and cupped his jaw. A tear trailed down Newt's cheek.

Minho kissed it away, so incredibly gently. “You’re brave,” he said, tipping Newt’s head up to look into his eyes. “We’ll make this work, Blue Eyes. I promise.”

Newt surged up to kiss him because that was the best response he could give.

 

* * *

 

Aris showed up with flowers, just like Minho had joked so many months ago. He combed his hair and even bothered with an actual shirt instead of wearing one of his usual shabby hoodies. It has been quite the hard work, but with a lot of conspiring, and a little convincing here and there, Minho and Newt managed to set Aris and Sonya up for a date.

Surprisingly, their plan didn’t backfire. Sonya wasn’t angry for being tricked but instead took the chance to talk to Aris. She admitted that she wanted to apologize, but was too proud and scared to call Aris first. Of course, Aris, being the little lovesick bean he is, forgave her. It was all very touching and emotional. Minho gagged when he heard how their date went, and Newt may or may not have pinched his arm stealthily.

They were all surprised when a few months later Sonya brought forth the idea of introducing Aris to her mom.

“Er… are you guys _sure_ you want to do this?” Minho asked, and Sonya nodded. Aris didn’t look quite as determined, but he tried to put on his best brave face. 

Despite all odds, Mrs. Newton absolutely _loved_ him. “He’s perfect for you, sweetheart!” she told Sonya after their dinner was over. “Oh, I’m so happy for you!”

Would she still have the same reaction if she actually knew that Aris and Sonya are not Soulmates? Probably not. Okay, _definitely_ not. So every time he visited, Aris was careful to replace his red wristband with a white one, and held back any display of annoyance when Lisa started babbling on about the System.

 “I was right, wasn’t I?” she asked one day. The weather was ice cold, and snow tumbled down in tiny flakes outside the window. It has been over a year since Newt first met Minho, and Sonya met Aris. All the dramas they have been through seemed silly and crazy to look at in retrospect, and they were all glad to have settled down.

Mrs. Newton still didn’t know about Minho’s and Newt’s relationship. Her attitude towards the Rebel boy didn’t improve, but she at least learnt to tolerate him. They were all sitting around the table in the Newtons’ household – Aris and Sonya next to each other, Newt and Minho in front of them. Lisa sat at the head of the table, and looked gloomy, despite the cozy atmosphere in the house.

This was supposed to be a family dinner, so she really didn’t see how the Rebel boy fit in, but Newt insisted that his _best friend_ ought to be present. She tried to hide her disapproval, but it was harder than she thought.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” she said, looking at her daughter.

“What do you mean, mom?” Sonya asked.

“About your Mark. About all of this. You ended up finding your Soulmate, and look at how happy you are, sweetheart. Aren’t you glad you didn’t end up dating… other people, who would have undoubtedly taken advantage of you?” Lisa smiled sweetly, looking at Minho briefly, but mostly keeping her attention on Sonya. 

The silence was pretty awkward. Sonya must have tensed without realizing, because Aris squeezed her hand under the table to let Sonya know that it’s okay.

“Oh, I’ve dated other people,” Minho said suddenly. “In fact, I’m dating somebody right now, and I couldn’t be happier with him.” He ginned, and made a point of showing off his red wristband by grabbing his fork and stabbing the piece of pancake on his plate with it. “These are delicious, Mrs. N. You’ve got to teach me your magic!”

Lisa’s smile was tight. “Thank you, Minho. How many people have you dumped again?”

Minho gripped his fork a little tighter. “I’ve been in three relationships before-“ he almost said _before Newt,_ but caught himself in time. “Before my current one.”

“Well, I’m glad my children are not like that,” Lisa answered sharply, not even bothering to hide her distaste. The boy had a lot of nerve to talk to her like this. She was not about to have any of his defiance.

Newt slammed his fork on the table. His mother, and pretty much everyone in the room except Minho, jumped. “Minho is our guest, mom. I don’t think you’re being very hospitable right now.”  

“He’s _your_ guest, Isaac. And I would appreciate it, if you got your priorities straight. I don’t think _he’s_ being very respectful towards _me._ ”

“Mom-“ Sonya started, but shut her mouth when Lisa glared at her.

The tension was so thick, it was almost tangible. For a few minutes, nobody dared to make a sound. Then, Newt shoved his chair back and clenched his fists.

“You know what? I’ve had enough of this. I don’t want to argue with you, or lie to you anymore, mom. I love you. I don’t know why you hate Minho so much, but if you care about me, I know you’ll understand.”

Lisa stared at him in confusion and surprise. So did Aris, and Sonya, and Minho. 

“Minho isn’t just my _best friend._ He’s my boyfriend. And I’m in love with him, so please, be kinder to him.” With that, he stood up, said a quick thank you for the dinner, and left the room in a rush.

Minho stayed glued to his place, too stunned to move. Lisa was scandalized to the point that she sprang up, almost sending her chair flying backwards. “Isaac Newton, come back here _immediately._ Your sister would have NEVER-“

“Aris is not my Soulmate,” Sonya blurted out.

Lisa dropped back on her chair, and it’s a good thing she didn’t topple it earlier, otherwise she would have ended up on the floor. That’s when Minho unfroze. He looked at Sonya, who gave him an _I’ve-got-this_ nod, and ran out of the room.

 _“What is this?”_ he heard Lisa yelling, but he was in too much of a hurry to stop. He climbed up the stairs and checked Newt’s room, but Newt wasn’t there. In quick, jerky movements, he fished his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans, and dialed Newt’s number.

“Where’d you go?” he demanded, when the blonde picked up after the third try.

“I don’t know,” Newt confessed. “I’m not too far away from my house. It’s some alley-“

“Can you find your way home?”

“I don’t want to be there right now.”

“How about my place?”

“Okay,” Newt said, “I’ll text Sonya.” And he hung up.

Lisa was speaking in a much calmer voice when Minho went downstairs, but he decided not to push his luck. He snuck out of the house, closing the front door as gently as he could, and speed walked home. The thick coat of ice on the pavement made it impossible to run, so he had to penguin his way through several blocks before he arrived.

Newt wasn’t there yet, so he told his mom that he’d be in his room and that he was expecting Newt over. It took him several minutes to convince Kira that she didn’t have to bake anything, and that she should concentrate on her work instead. Reluctantly, Mrs. Park agreed to stay in front of her laptop and finish her translation, but she made Minho promise to at least offer his boyfriend some pudding.

“Thanks mom,” he said, but before he could go upstairs, the doorbell rang.

“It’s probably him,” Kira smiled. “Will you open the door yourself?”

“Yeah, yeah. Yeah, I’ll… We’ll be upstairs.”

“Okay.” His mom gave him a knowing smile, and resumed to her work.

Minho all but ran to the door. He threw it open with so much force, it almost slammed against the wall, but the person outside caught it.

“Uh… your mail?” the postman asked uncertainly, a little baffled at the look Minho was giving him. “Am I interrupting something? I can come back later.”

“No, it’s okay.” Minho took the envelopes and moved to sign the man’s paper, not trying to hide his disappointment. Then, somebody coughed from behind the postman.

“Excuse me, can I- I’m sorry, I just wanna-“ Newt squeezed his way into the house, and shook the snow out of his hair.

“Hey,” he said, ignoring the annoyed look the postman was giving him.

Minho grabbed his face and kissed him. Newt was so startled, he staggered back a little, but Minho followed him, his silly smile somehow making the kiss warmer and gentler. Newt was still too stunned to respond, barely registering Minho’s soft touch on his cheeks, and the taste of his mother’s pancakes on Minho’s lips. 

“Uh…” said the postman.

“Oi, you two!” Mrs. Park chided from the corridor. “Get a room!” She pretended to be annoyed, but the smile on her face was too much of a giveaway. “Here, let me sign this.” She shooed the boys away, telling the still confused postman about how silly the youth is nowadays.

Once in his room, Minho broke into a million dollar grin. “I can’t believe you did _that_!” he exclaimed, barely containing his excitement.

“Sonya texted me that mom yelled a little and calmed down. She wants to talk to us.” Newt looked miserable.

That grounded Minho a little bit. “Hey,” he said gently. “Your mom will understand.”

“Yeah, whatever. She’ll come to terms with it sooner or later,” Newt agreed. He tried to smile, but it looked so pathetic, Minho felt his guts tying themselves into a knot.

“Newt, what’s wrong?”

The happiness he felt seconds ago seemed to evaporate at the sight of tears in Newt’s eyes. The blond boy sat on Minho’s bed and covered his face with his hands. Minho set next to him, placing a hand on Newt’s knee.

“You said you’re in love with me,” Minho said so softly, it was almost a whisper.

Newt sobbed. _That’s_ what he’s upset about, Minho guessed. He pried Newt’s hands away from his face gently, and tipped his chin up, to meet his eyes. “If you didn’t mean it, that’s okay,” Minho allowed, though the words broke his heart a little.

Newt shook his head slowly. “I meant every word.”

“Then what’s the matter, love? I’m in love with you, too.”

Before Minho could finish his sentence, Newt started shaking his head faster. “Don’t,” he said sadly. “Please just – don’t.”

Minho refused to acknowledge the way his heart clenched. “What do you mean? I love you – _hey!_ – don’t shake your head like that, _I love you._ ”

“Stop!” Newt snapped. “How easy is it to say that you love me, just like that?” Minho looked so heartbroken, Newt faltered for a second, but then he gathered his will and went on. “You won’t show me,” he said in a small voice. “After all this time, after I’ve trusted you with every secret I have, after I confronted my mom, you still won’t show me, will you? You’re so loud with your words, but what happens when _he_ shows up?” Newt pointed at Minho’s wristband. “You say that your Mark doesn’t matter to you, but how can I believe that? You hide it so vigorously; you shield yourself from me every time I bring it up. Obviously it means something to you. It means _a lot_ to you. Why won’t you trust me with it, Minho?”

He expected Minho to be hurt or even angry at his words, but Minho just looked relieved.

“Is that what’s _really_ bothering you?” the brunet asked, and Newt nodded, wiping away the wetness in his eyes.

Impossibly, Minho smiled. He stuck his arm out, and offered his hand to Newt, wrist up. “Go on, then. Take my wristband off.”

Newt sucked in a breath. Even though he had wanted to see Minho’s Mark so badly all these months, it felt wrong now. “Min I… Are you sure? I don’t want you to do this just because I’m pressuring you.”

Minho’s smile became warmer, the crinkle of his eyes so familiar, Newt’s heart swelled with fondness. Minho took Newt’s hand and placed it on his red wristband, confirming that he genuinely didn’t mind showing his Mark to Newt.

Newt swallowed, closed his eyes, and pulled the fabric off.

_“You think that’s funny?”_

Newt can still remember the first words he told Minho, after the Asian greeted him with a short “hi.” It’s been his hope, ever since he met the brunet, that Minho is his Soulmate, and that they’re really meant to be. It’s been a while since he’d let go of the thought, but he couldn’t help but get excited now. Something told him that this was it. This was the moment he’s been waiting for his entire life.

 When Newt opened his eyes his heart stopped. There was an ugly scar on Minho’s wrist, his skin so wrinkled and damaged it was painful to look at. Black fragments of ink were visible here and there on some parts of his skin that weren’t burnt as bad as the rest of it, but they were too scattered to have any meaning. Newt’s fingers trembled, afraid he was hurting Minho, as he traced the burnt skin, so thin and delicate.

Newt looked up, but Minho didn’t look like he’s in pain. He just looked sad, his eyes fixed on the ugly skin of his wrist.

“Have you ever wondered what are the odds of getting struck by lightning?” he asked before Newt could break the silence first.

“Min, you don’t have to tell me. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have insisted.”

“I had this watch I used to love,” Minho continued with a nostalgic smile, as if he didn’t even hear Newt. “It was my favorite thing ever. Dad’s gift, you know. When the lightning struck, it passed through my right arm, from my shoulder to my wrist. The watch took the worst of the blow. I’m lucky, really. This is the only scar it left. Well, that, and I had to learn how to move and control my arm all over again, but that’s an old story.” Minho sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

“Is that why you became a Rebel? Because you couldn’t see your Mark?” Newt asked, fiddling with Minho’s fingers in his hand nervously.

Minho shook his head. “That’s exactly why I don’t want anyone to know about my scar. Even if I had a proper Mark, I would still have been who I am now, you understand? I’d still be me. I’d still love you, and not some Soulmate I’m supposed to have.”

Newt was silent for a moment, his emotions too loud and messy to decipher. “Maybe I _am_ your Soulmate,” he said eventually, his smile crooked. “We’ll never know, will we?”

Minho laughed breathlessly. “We won’t,” he confirmed. “It doesn’t matter to me. I meant what I said, Newt. I love you.”

Newt felt his eyes moistening again, this time from happiness. He kissed Minho’s wrist gently, and then Minho’s lips. “You idiot. I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> that's kinda it. i kno ikno the ending sucks DONT HATE ME i might as well write a sequel and finish things off more smoothly. i'll work on it!


End file.
